


Javert's Choice

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Bloodplay, Dark!Valjean, Knifeplay, M/M, Snuff, crying Swensonvert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You talk too much,” Valjean murmured, so close that Javert could feel the heat of the air he exhaled ghosting across his skin.</p>
<p>Javert shuddered. Had now come the moment when Valjean would silence him with a swipe of the blade? Perhaps, if he begged for his life, Valjean might be satisfied with that...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Javert's Choice

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [You should kill with a knife!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/173560) by MadMoro. 



> So, this, uh. My only excuse is that it's their acting that's really OOC? If you don't believe me, [this](http://esteliel.tumblr.com/post/138567775268/4-times-swensonvert-sobbed-in-raminjeans-arms-on) is what has inspired this, as well as [this amazing fanart](http://madmoro.tumblr.com/post/115404583289/you-should-kill-with-a-knife-want-some) of these two.

_Thud._

_Thud._

The sound of his heartbeat was the only thing that broke the silence. His heart was beating fast, terror pumping blood through his veins, the roar of his pulse loud in his ears. 

Javert was a man who had not often found reason to be afraid. He was afraid now.

Before him stood the imposing figure of Valjean, clad in the blue and red of the National Guard. Javert was on his knees and had to arch his neck to look up at him. His mouth was dry. 

He twisted his hands again, but the rope did not give. He could barely breathe through the terror. His chest was heaving, and he could not look away from the glint of the knife in Valjean's hand.

“How right you should kill with a knife.”

The words had been meant as an accusation, but all he could hear was the roughness of tears in his voice. He told himself he would not give Valjean the satisfaction of seeing his fear, yet it was impossible to fight the tears pricking his eyes.

Was this how it would end? With him completely in Valjean's power at last? Javert still remembered the sensation of the chain pulled taut around his throat, the bulk of the man's body hard and broad against his back, the utter terror of realizing how completely helpless he was. The shame, later, at the heat that had suffused him.

His life had been in Valjean's hand before. Valjean had not taken it. But had that been mercy, or mere accident?

Javert told himself that he would not beg, but he could feel himself shaking. He was afraid. It was impossible to hide the panic that made him shiver, and as he tried to swallow down his tears, he thought that it was impossible for Valjean not to know. Valjean had known his fear from the first moment he had crossed the barricade and set his eyes on Javert: bound and mussed, a prisoner of the insurgents. Helpless.

Javert had trembled then, for he knew what Valjean would do with such power over him, and he was trembling now, with Valjean so close that he could feel the heat of his breath against his skin and the coldness of his blade against his throat.

Valjean chuckled and pressed the knife closer. Another sob escaped Javert as he tilted back his head. His hands were tightly bound behind his back; he tensed his arms again, but all he managed was to make the rope bite into his wrists. He could not break free.

The knife pressed down harder; any moment it would break the skin. Javert struggled to breathe through the anguish clogging his throat. Valjean was so close that when he arched his head back further, their eyes met.

Even through the blurriness of Javert's tears, he could make out the cold intent in them.

And yet, even so, heat rushed through him once more, blood throbbing thick and hot between his legs although fear made his pulse thud loud as a drum in his ears. He saw that Valjean was smiling, one corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. Terror made Javert look down, his hands still clenching against the unforgiving bite of the rope.

“You talk too much,” Valjean murmured, so close that Javert could feel the heat of the air he exhaled ghosting across his skin.

Javert shuddered. Had now come the moment when Valjean would silence him with a swipe of the blade? Perhaps, if he begged for his life, Valjean might be satisfied with that...

No, he told himself, another sob rising to his throat and breaking free. No, he would not beg. He would rather die than plead with a criminal for mercy.

The knife pressed against his throat, then tapped his chin several times so that he had no choice but to raise his face once more. Valjean was close—so close that Javert could feel his breath on his lips. More tears ran down his cheeks even as he swallowed, and Valjean chuckled softly.

Even now, even here, Javert could feel his traitorous body react to how close Valjean was. The torment of rope and knife were not enough to quell the heat that had engulfed his body—on the contrary. It seemed as if the danger had only succeeded in fanning the flames that engulfed him, so that he had to gasp for air, achingly hard even as terror forced new tears from his eyes. _This_ was how he was going to die, with Valjean laughing at his tears—laughing at the way Javert's body was burning with anguished need even now.

He could see Valjean's awareness in his eyes. Valjean knew. Valjean knew, and like a cat playing with the mouse before the final swipe of the claws, it amused him to observe Javert's torment for a moment before he would end it.

Perhaps all that was left was to beg for a quick death. But would Valjean grant it?

The knife slid a little lower. The metal was hot against his skin. Javert breathed shallowly, another sob breaking free when it pressed down harder He could not look away from Valjean's eyes. This was how it would end—his life slipping away while Valjean watched, close enough for a kiss.

Even at the thought, another jolt of heat struck his body. He released a trembling gasp, his iron-hard shaft twitching against his trousers in the same moment that Valjean grabbed his hair to pull his head further back, the swipe of the blade against his throat hot and quick. Valjean struck fast like lightning. Javert did not even feel any pain before he became aware of the splash of wet warmth pulsing down his throat.

Valjean's eyes were still watching him, dark and unreadable, and Javert's hands strained behind his back—what for, he could not even say. Perhaps simply to clutch at Valjean's arms and hold him close as he bled out.

When his lips parted, all that escaped him was a rough moan. At the sound, Valjean smiled.

“It is just a shallow cut,” Valjean said quietly, his thumb pressing into the soft skin of Javert's throat. 

Javert felt his pulse thud in his ears.

“Like this, it will take you a while to bleed to death. Who knows, you might even live, were you brought to a doctor now. But do you think someone will save you?”

Javert struggled to speak. He could not look away from Valjean's eyes. Hot blood kept dripping down his throat, soaking into his shirt with the same relentless rhythm of his fearfully beating heart.

“No,” he whispered at last , trembling in Valjean's grip.

His chest was heaving. He was hot. He could not breathe in enough air. His lifeblood was running down his chest, and still he could not look away from Valjean's eyes. Could not stop fearing— _hoping_ —that he would die like this, in Valjean's power, spending his last breath in his arms.

Javert exhaled. The air left his throat in another shallow moan. With every pulse of his heart, he grew harder, and at the sound, Valjean smiled again.

Javert moistened his lips. Once more he tried to speak. “Please,” he finally whispered, his neck still arched, eye to eye with Valjean who now slid an arm around his back to support him when Javert trembled.

“Please what?” Valjean murmured. Slowly, he ran the blade down Javert's throat with near gentleness, pausing at the hollow of his throat.

Javert felt the pressure of it against his skin as his chest kept heaving with every breath he took.

“Please, mercy?” Valjean tilted his head to the side as if in consideration.

The point of the knife still teased at the vulnerable skin above his collarbone, and Javert could not suppress the little whimper that escaped him at the sensation. Valjean smiled again, as if satisfied by that answer.

“Or please, end it quickly?”

Javert opened his mouth, but this time, no words would escape. Dimly, he felt the pulse of warm wetness run down his chest, blood still soaking into his shirt with every frightened beat of his heart. What would he beg for, could he speak?

_Please, stay with me._

That was the terrifying truth. To die in his enemy's arms, helpless, with his enemy gloating—and still, Javert could not help the way his heart trembled in his breast, unable to withstand the terrible power of this man's gaze which seemed able to look right into the depths of his soul. Already the man had taken his life. Did it truly matter now whether Javert would also give this final surrender?

“Or is it _please, touch me_?” The words came out in an intimate murmur against his skin. At the same time, Valjean's hand slid down his chest until the blade rested against where even now—especially now—Javert's prick was pressing with unrelenting hardness against the seams of his trousers.

Javert sobbed even as his prick throbbed with need at the sensation, and then Valjean twisted his wrist. One flick of the knife, and one button was gone. Another flick—and now his trouser flap fell open enough to ease the pressure of cloth against his swollen shaft. Javert listened to the thunder of his heartbeat in his ears, concentrating on the steady, slow flow of sticky heat down his neck, his life dripping away with every passing moment. Then Valjean's hand drew him free.

Javert shuddered, a broken moan spilling free at last as his body arched helplessly into Valjean's body, supported solely by the strength of his arm now.

“Please,” he whispered again, blinking sluggishly as he forced himself to hold Valjean's gaze. 

Valjean laughed softly, intimately. “I will make you a deal, Javert.”

He was still so close that his breath whispered hot against Javert's ear, who instinctively craned his head to be closer to him.

“The moment you spend yourself, I will end it.” Valjean's thumb lovingly caressed Javert's throat once more, following the line where the sharp blade would cut.

“So it is your choice, you see. Do you struggle and fight to make it last, to live for as long as you can? Or do you give in to what we both know you need, even if doing so will mean your death? The choice is yours, Javert.”

Again Javert drew in a laborious breath. It escaped as a moan when Valjean's hand tightened around his prick. His hands were still tightly bound behind his back, but he was too weak to struggle against his bonds. And still he managed to arch his back when Valjean stroked him, a slow caress that pulled another moan from his aching throat. Valjean's arm was strong and certain around his back, holding him upright. Heat throbbed between Javert's legs. His chest was warm and sticky with blood, but even so he could not look away from Valjean's eyes that held him in thrall, and he trembled as Valjean's hand stroked him slowly, every motion sending ecstasy through the raw, dying nerves of his body.

Javert struggled for breath. Valjean's thumb brushed against the head of his cock, and another sob escaped him when it lingered there, slowly rubbing while Javert gasped for air, crumbling apart beneath Valjean's relentless, detached gaze. It felt as though he had been meticulously cracked open, and now there was nothing of him left, all of his heart's secrets bared at last.

Slowly, relentless, his blood dripped down his chest, a new pulse of sticky warmth with every beat of his heart. He moaned weakly. Helpless, Javert looked up into Valjean's eyes as he gathered what strength remained him—not to struggle, but to push up into Valjean's grasp, his prick sliding into the tight hold of his fingers with an ease that dragged another moan from him.

More blood soaked into his shirt. He ignored it. The only thing that mattered was the furious beating of his heart that pumped hot blood through his veins, his entire body on fire as he trembled, spread out beneath Valjean's gaze. His breath came in little sobs. Valjean watched, and Javert in turn watched Valjean, aware of what he was observing: the depth of Javert's shame and need. But what was shame when Javert could feel his life ending slowly but certainly with every beat of his heart, every dull _thud_ speeding him along once step closer to that moment when his heart would finally give up the fight and cease to beat in surrender to this man?

Javert's lips parted. He would have pleaded again, had he any breath left, but all that escaped were moans that he breathed against Valjean who held him so tenderly, cradling him in a lover's embrace while blood kept spilling down Javert's chest. Valjean's palm was rough and warm, his grip certain, and Javert kept thrusting into his touch, overwhelmed by the gentle caress.

This was how it would end, Javert thought again, delirious, watching a lock of gray curl against Valjean's forehead. Were his hands free, he would have been able to touch it.

His breath was rattling in his chest. It was impossible to breathe in enough air. Bands of iron seemed to clench around his chest. He could feel his vision dimming, and still he struggled, moaning weakly every time he arched and pushed eagerly into the tight clasp of Valjean's hand, the _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_ of his heart accompanied by the wet sound of flesh on flesh.

Valjean's breath was hot on Javert's face. His entire body was tight, arched and tense like a coil, blood roaring in his ears as he moaned breathlessly—and then the roar became a storm, his body shaking as ecstasy overwhelmed him. Javert shuddered as the muscles of his stomach contracted, his spend spilling from him with pulse after pulse of his struggling heart. He kept his eyes open through all of it, desperate, helpless. Valjean's arm was warm against his back, cradling his weakened body close while Valjean's other hand releasing his prick to take hold of the blade once more.

_I would have begged for a kiss_ Javert thought weakly, fighting the lethargy that made his eyes try to flutter close.

The roar of blood in his ears had died down again. Distantly, he could hear the weak _thud_ of his heart.

_Thud_ , it said again when the knife touched his throat. He struggled to keep his eyes open, holding Valjean's gaze—then sighed with his last breath and tilted back his head in final surrender, baring his throat to the blade.

He barely felt the cut. More wetness soaked into his shirt, a river of heat spilling down his chest. Valjean tenderly touched his cheek, fingers finding the bruise the insurgents had left.

Javert exhaled. Then there was silence.


End file.
